In the Attempt
by Purplehood
Summary: Rumble could have cursed his processor for bringing up the reason they were even in this mess. He had been desperately trying to suppress it for awhile, but the feeling in his spark just wouldn't leave—a sore ache throbbing in the middle of his chassis. Soundwave's minicons attempt to find their master who, unbeknownst to them, is trapped in the Shadowzone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just something I wrote in my free time. I'm debating with myself whether or not to continue. Story takes place after Transformers Prime: Predacons Rising. I don't own Transformers or any characters appearing in this story.**

 **Reviews would be remarkable. Please let me know what you think.**

 **Operation: Entry**

"I don't think he's here."

The small mech gave his companion a frustrated glance before turning back to stare at the sealed doors towering before his tiny black and red figure. "Don't say that. I know he's here; I can feel it," he whispered as he reached out to place his servo on the giant metal slabs, inhaling deeply after making contact. " _We_ can feel it," he corrected himself, raising his tone to get his brother's attention.

"Ya keep saying ya _know_ he's here or there, but we haven't found him anywhere yet." The purple bot kicked at the disheveled ground as he spoke, his voice struggling to carry out the solely sarcastic tone he intended. With a sigh he watched as his twin ignored his pessimistic jab, choosing instead to carefully trace the thin seam between the doors with his finger.

"How do you think we can get in, Rumble?" The mech turned with a cocked helm to face his self-disengaged brother, gesturing towards the building with his free servo.

Rumble scuffed bitterly under his visor and propped himself against the short wall surrounding the now littered "courtyard"— _debris field_ was a more suiting name for the place. "Like that's _ever_ been a problem before. Or have all those years in space made you rusty, 'Zee?" he snorted loudly, allowing his shoulders to droop in his slacked position.

The red and black minicon snarled and glanced back towards the doors, his finger still pressed against the cold, smooth surface. "If yer so confident why ya over there instead of helpin' me over here?" he retorted sharply before turning to look directly at his twin.

Frenzy almost cut his sentence short as his optics focused on Rumble. Was something wrong? The frown possessing his twin's faceplate was almost… fearful. "Hey, what's the deal? Ya scared or somethin'?" he questioned, the unfamiliar expression catching him off guard.

The purple twin simply crossed his arms over his chest and leaned further back. In truth, he seriously didn't like the looks of the shadowy dilapidated structure—a relic from the war. There were few places still like this on Cybertron since the rebuilding, and the eerie silence was bringing back the more disturbing memories of the past conflict.

Rumble shuttered slightly as his optics wondered from destroyed walls to smashed columns to caved roofs to blackened, broken windows. Even the air seemed faintly tinted with the scent of burnt rubber and motor exhaust, a telling reminder of the ghosts of the all-too-recent past.

 _Why would the Boss be here?_

Rumble could have cursed his processor for bringing up the reason they were even in this mess. The minicon had been desperately trying to suppress it for awhile, but the feeling in his spark just wouldn't leave—a sore ache throbbing in the middle of his chassis. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it wouldn't cease. Yet if he attempted to focus on it purely, it would disappear—slip right through his grasp. It didn't make sense. And their hopeless pursuit of it was only getting them into more trouble. They were caught in an unending loop of chaos and confusion, trying to understand something that simply wasn't possible.

So maybe, he _was_ scared. It wasn't like he was going to admit it out loud, especially to his slightly inciting twin. Their shared spark would be enough for the red minicon to feel his fear, as well as his irritation. It was meaningless of Frenzy to even ask him such a mocking question when the answer was very much apparent.

The war was over. Cybertron had been revived. Rumble had had enough.

"Frenzy, can't you just stop already? He's not here. And he's not coming back," the minicon finally allowed the words to form in the "spoken" language, his voice lowering to a whisper halfway through. The cassette drooped his helm with a frustrated sigh. The reply hadn't come out as nicely as it sounded in his head. "I just don't wanna get arrested again," he mumbled, hoping to make up for the awkwardness of his first comments. Rumble cringed to himself; somehow, that sounded even worse. Slowly raising his helm, he met his brother's blood-red optics.

Frenzy seemed to have frozen in his standing position, staring at his twin in silence as strange barrage of conflicting emotions flooded through their bond. He didn't understand how Rumble could have changed so drastically; the mischievous, obnoxious nature of his brother seemed to have been overridden by his fear, his uncertainty, his doubt. He didn't think they were going to succeed.

Frenzy scowled in disgust. "You know he's here! You can sense him as well as I can! How can you just give up like that?!" he shouted, shattering the once steady silence.

Rumble flinched at the high volume of his twin's voice, as if the words could physically harm him, which, in Frenzy's case, he couldn't be too sure they couldn't. He finally turned away, his visor reflecting the abandoned ruins around them. _I dunno know, Frenzy,_ he whispered over their split-spark sadly.

Servos hung limply at his side, Frenzy broke his glare and tilted his helm to the doors once again. The statements Rumble had been repeating ever since they had arrived on Cybertron replayed in his processor over and over again. _He's not here. Just forget him. He's gone, Frenzy. We need to move on. The Boss is dead._

 _No._

 _He_ wasn't just going to give up. He wasn't going to abandon the one he was most loyal to. It was their mission to find him. Their _objective_. They were incomplete without him. Just two lost minicons.

His tiny fists clenched in conclusion, Frenzy activated his piledrivers and confidently approached the entryway.

"What are you doing?" Rumble called over to him, his voice barely reaching an audible volume.

"What's it look like, Glitch-Head? I'm making an entrance," the red and black cassetticon snapped back. He thrust his transformed arms towards the doors with as much force as his small frame would allow. _I'll find Soundwave by myself if I have to._ A resounding _clang_ rang throughout the courtyard, echoing back in the twins' audio receptors. Frenzy glowered at the dented doors as if disgusted by their defiance to give way at the first blow. With a yell of frustration, he tried again.

Rumble let out a sigh at Frenzy's continuous attempts, cringing at each thunderous collision. His brother wasn't succeeding in accomplishing anything by himself—unless of course his aim was to capture the attention of everyone within earshot. And even worse: Frenzy had just pulled the guilt factor on him.

It was true: he didn't believe they would ever find Soundwave again. He was afraid they would discover something worse: something that would _confirm_ that they weren't going to ever find their master.

But, they _couldn't_ just give up. Frenzy was persistent on that. They _could_ still feel Soundwave's presence through their sparks. If there was any change he was still out there, they _had_ to find him.

The purple cassetticon slowly leaned back on his pedes. He would continue. If not for himself, then for Frenzy... for the others.

A rumbling tingle vibrated throughout Frenzy's frame as he mercilessly smashed the plates of steel. He didn't even notice the figure behind him until the servo grabbed his shoulder. Frenzy spun around at the contact, scowling as some gruesome memory flashed through his mind. "What the pit do you want?!" he practically spit the words out as he recoiled from his twin's grip.

Ignoring the threatening gleam in Frenzy's visor, Rumble mustered the widest grin he could. He took a step back, his arms suddenly buzzing as they transformed. "Quit the 'hero' scrap, Frenzy. I'm coming with ya. If either of us is gonna find the Boss, it'll be me," he announced proudly, beaming at his nearly identical comrade. _Besides, there's no harm in trying again._

Frenzy rolled his optics but allowed himself to smirk at his twin's more characteristic obnoxiousness, even if it was obviously being faked. "You're such a slagger, Rumble," he hissed, hardly suppressing the urge to elbow his twin hard.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've decided to continue… :) This chapter was a pain for some reason. Prowl is a difficult character to write. And I don't think I have everything the way I wanted, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.**

 **I don't own Transformers or any characters.**

 **Operation: Analyze**

The star Cybertron orbited had cast such a peaceful glow on everything that evening. Sharp glints of reflected light on the metallic surfaces gave a depth to the soft shadowed areas trailing behind the towering structures, giving an almost mystical essence to the air, a feeling that was dream-like.

Prowl allowed a smile to settle on his faceplate as he watched the scurrying motion of the city far below. It was truly a sight to behold from his position in one of the newly reestablished towers. The view was just perfect.

Cybertronians of every shape and size strolled the streets, some conversing in a friendly manner, others simply gazing in admiration at the sunset as they made their way home. Even the twisting and tube-like roads and highways seemed to sparkle as swift blurry figures glided over them at an almost awe-inspiring speed.

The Autobot watched in appreciation. It was a rare occurrence that he would actually find himself forgetting the troubles and everyday duties of life. And it was even less common that the law-enforcer would be enjoying himself. Cybertron's restoration had brought a sense of peace and security that was felt by nearly all its inhabitants—Autobot or otherwise. But, as was almost always the case, this newly found peace came with a cost. And as more and more refugees returned to their home, the need to establish order became essential.

Prowl absently stroke a finger over the insignia engraved on his shoulder. The War was finally over. The cause they had so desperately fought for had finally won. There was no longer any need for conflict. _This_ was what Cybertron had been meant to be. There was no doubt in the mech's mind. _This was the real Golden Age_. And he didn't care how stressful his own responsibilities would be to keep it that way.

The Praxian nearly jumped when the buzz hummed in his ear, his door wings twitching in surprise. The law enforcer immediately recovered from his shock, sighing wearily as straightened his posture. _Back to reality and all its problems_ , someone had once said; Prowl couldn't quite remember who. But the truth of the statement was certainly something he could relate to. With one last glimpse at the world below, he brought two fingers up to his comm. link.

"Hey Prowl." The greeting was gruff, impatient and undeniably irritated; a whole rant was just waiting to be unleashed from those first two words. The Praxian frowned in anticipation, his mind almost immediately calculating possible reasons for _Ironhide's_ aggravated interruption of his free time. And if he knew anything about Ironhide, nearly anything could be labeled as a decent enough problem to justify bugging the former SIC. It was going to be a _long_ night.

Resisting the urge to hang up, Prowl acknowledged his fellow law enforcer with a low hum.

"Guess wha' I'mma puttin' up with," the mech snarled over the comm.

Prowl made no attempt to answer. The large red mech had been one of his closest companions back during the War for Cybertron. The two had both served in the Autobot inner command circle under Optimus Prime, often working together with surprising efficiency spurred on by their Praxian heritage. Neither was without flaw however. Prowl had come to the conclusion that it was best to simply stay quiet and detached when Ironhide was in his "rambling" mood, a trait that had become some-what legendary among both sides.

"Ah'll give ya a hint, what's annoyin' as the Pit, talks like slag, an' gives ya one frag of a helm-ache?" Of course, Ironhide was a very persistent mech when he set his mind to it.

"What happened, Ironhide? You better have a good reason for this interruption," Prowl finally spoke up smooth and calm, only his door wings giving away his irritation.

"Don't ah always?!" Ironhide snorted indignantly, managing to sound the perfect mix of frustration and hurt at the same time.

Prowl shuttered his optics, suppressing a sigh. It was probably best to save that particular conversation for another time. "Continue."

"Well, if ya _really_ want to know, Prowl," Ironhide huffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "we got a complaint from someone 'bout some disturbance of the peace on the outskirts—not too uncommon if ya ask me, especially with al' those younglings partying like scraplets in a steel park and such, but, Jazz 'n' ah went ta check it out anyways an' found that someone had broken into one of those condemned buildings out there—ya know, the ones left from the bombings long ago—Ah don't think that's too uncommon either, ya know? Some bots are just curious and wanna explore, ah guess. Ah know I'd be wanting ta if ah lived out there, who knows what kind o' stuff you'll find. And then there's all that construction goin' on and stuff. Ah was thinkin' maybe that's what all the noise was, but, Jazz said we should investigate just in case. An' when we did—was an ol' storage buildin', ah think—we found the door was smashed real viciously—ah mean, looked like a Dinobot had a temper tantrum and decided to pick a fight with Bruticus—" The older mech continued until even his speech trailed off into half-intelligible babbling.

Prowl slowly buried his face into his palm, door wings twitching violently. It probably made for a scandalous sight, but Prowl couldn't force himself to care. "Ironhide!" He waited for the mech to grow silent. "Leave the details for the report. At the moment, let's get to the point of why we're having this conversation."

There was a short pause over the connection as the older Praxian halted his mumblings, most likely reviewing the events in his own mind (or trying to find his way back to the original subject.) "Let's just say we now have two lil' slaggers 'ere who are disturbing a whole lot more peace than they originally set out ta," he finally grunted, adding as much revulsion to his voice as he could.

"Over-energized younglings?" As far as Prowl could tell, that particular category was one of the most despised by Ironhide… he just hoped it wasn't—

"Worse."

Prowl finally let out a long-awaited sigh. He had been desperately holding on to the hope that his evening would be left at least somewhat peaceful. The tone of Ironhide's voice was all too telling however. "Care to elaborate?" he asked, although he already had a sickening feeling that he knew whom his fellow Autobot was referring to.

"A cert'n ex-communications officer's punkish, deceitful, giddy pit-spawn hellions of doom," Ironhide replied, the venom in his voice as apparent as ever, "again, if you can believe it."

It was an apt description.

Prowl shifted his position to rest his arm against the windowsill, propping his helm up with one hand. Already he could feel a head-ache coming on as his mind wavered to what had to be the most irritating problem of his (and Cybertron's) many troubles: _Ex-Decepticons..._ Those two in particular.

"Soundwave's minicons." Even the words sounded wrong. Especially when uttered in this era of peace, this new Cybertron… where those names were dead. Things of the past. Never to be remembered or spoken of again…

If only it was that simple.

"Yep," Ironhide's gruff voice jumped in. "Ah'm starting ta think this is their favorite place."

"I don't find it amusing, Ironhide," Prowl stated, the tone of his voice affirming his statement. "Those two have been apprehended thrice this month alone. This has to stop."

"Yeah, precisely my point, Prowl! _Three times_ this month! _This_ month! Ah mean, don't get me started on _last_ month! I'm _certain_ we've put up with this slag far too much than what is healthy for a mech," Ironhide burst out. "When ya gonna get the Council ta put 'em away for good?"

Silence.

The truth was Prowl didn't have an answer. The Council had not been living up to its expectations—that much was certain. With its useless debates and false promises, the Council seemed more like a throwback to the Golden Age than the "Revised Council of Cybertron" it claimed to be. It was hard enough getting it to actually deal with _relevant_ problems… like _ex-Decepticons_.

As his gaze wandered once again to the city below, the Praxian brought a curled finger to his chin in thought. _Ex-Decepticons._ Part of him wanted to simply stuff all who had borne that brand right into a stasis pod… or somewhere much worse. They deserved as much. But even Prowl couldn't deny that even they, _the Decepticons_ , were Cybertronians at spark. They had joined their cause for whatever reason or another... And when the opportunity showed itself, most had been willing to give up their faction for peace and for their home.

Society still had yet to accept the idea. And there were wounds that would never fully heal. Prowl himself was still trying to gauge how much was forgivable. "I'll be down there soon. Hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this," he said. "And Ironhide?"

"Yep."

"This time, try to keep the perpetrators _in_ the holding cell."


End file.
